I’ve lived in some amazing places and I love the entirety of the U.S.A. Every state I’ve been to has something wonderful, and Oregon is no exception.

But I miss the farmland I grew up on, the tiny town I called home for so long, my old friends I haven’t seen in years, my old haunts, the gravel roads, the lakes, the rivers, the dairy farm I worked for... Usually I try not to give it much thought, but when I start to think about home, I go down into a spiral of homesickness. Though I know my life wouldn’t be what it is and I wouldn’t have this same appreciation for the place that made me if I had never left.


I’ve moved 12 times since leaving in 3 different geographical regions. I’ve spent considerable time in more countries than I care to recount right now, and I know there are people “back home” that are jealous of me for getting out and seeing the world. But a part of me will always be jealous of people who can put down roots.

My dad turns 73 this year. I need to visit him.

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